Someone Else's Life

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Video: Someone Else's Life

Video: Someone Else's Life
Video: Joshua Radin - Someone Else's Life 2024, May
Someone Else's Life
Someone Else's Life
Anonim

A midlife crisis is a state of a person who makes one look back at the life he has lived and overestimate his priorities. This is the point that can be a turning point for your future life

You wake up at night. Frozen horror fills and envelops you. One thought in my head: “I'm almost 50!”. It doesn't matter that you are still 37. After all, yesterday you were 22. The canvas of life was crucified before your steps. A world filled with possibilities. It was yesterday. 15 years is a chronicle, a set of shots, not even a short film. “How did this happen to me? How did I get here? The events of the past life flicker: one, two, three … And here you are. You lie at night in your bed, in your apartment, feeling with every millimeter of your skin that what you once heard from adults, did not believe, grinned, brushed it off. Life is short! Even if you believed then, you could not imagine that you are so short. Just one, two, three. So you are almost 50. So you have already lived it. It means that everything should have happened in your life. You should have happened. I want to curl up, shrink into a ball. Become invisible to this flow. Close your eyes, don't breathe. And maybe then he won't notice, he will take pity …

It's a crisis, kid. This means that it's time to collect stones. With a trembling hand, you rummage in the dark, trying to grab onto something solid. You take what comes to hand. You bring it to your face to examine. You unclench your fist. And you see only the sand flowing through the disobedient, alien fingers. You dreamed about so many things. Is that all? And nothing will happen? And you will remain in a strange, strange sandbox to collect a handful of sand, try to build sand castles out of it. Count: “One, two, three”. Wait for the cold tide to dissolve you and your ghostly structures.

This is a crisis. The uninvited, violent psychotherapist who settled in your house. Morpheus. On his outstretched palms are two pills: blue and red. Pick red, Neo, and you'll find out how deep the rabbit hole is. You will shake off the illusion that is no longer sweet to you. You will see yourself naked and weak in a gray, ruthless world. You will learn to walk again. Each step you take will be only yours, a continuation of your previous step. Where will you come? You would like to know. But you cannot know. All you can do is move your atrophied muscles through pain. Inhale and exhale. Examine the dirt and blood under yellowed nails. Live.

It can all be yours. But now it is not too late to choose the blue pill. And then you will wake up in your bed in the morning, vaguely remembering a strange nightmare. Shave, put on a suit, and trudge to work, build sandcastles. With someone else's hands from someone else's sand. And when you bring your hands to your face, you will see clean, polished nails. You will be surprised. A strange silhouette of a helpless person from a terrible dream will begin to appear before your inner gaze. You shake off this obsession. And you will hurry on important matters.

Live?

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